


White Hat

by skyblue_reverie



Series: These Violent Delights [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Pre-Slash, Trope Bingo Amnesty, Trope Bingo Round 15, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyblue_reverie/pseuds/skyblue_reverie
Summary: John Sheppard, Sheriff of Sweetwater.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: These Violent Delights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075637
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fifteen





	White Hat

**Author's Note:**

> SGA/Westworld fusion. See [series notes](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075637) for info. This fic fills the square "AU: Historical" for my [trope bingo card](https://skyblue-reverie.dreamwidth.org/88973.html).

John settled his white cowboy hat a bit more firmly on his head and leaned against the railing of the raised wooden sidewalk he was standing on. He squinted against the bright morning sun. Just another day in Sweetwater. Should be fairly quiet, unless he had to go break up a brawl or eject an overly-enthusiastic patron from Miss Teyla’s. Still, he had a bad feeling in his gut. Like something big was on the horizon. Something terrible.

There were rumors of bandits up in the hills, but then there were _always_ rumors of bandits up in the hills. They hadn’t gotten to be too much of a problem yet or he’d have had to get up a posse and go clean them out. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He’d taken up the sheriff’s post with reluctance, as he had sincerely wished to retire his gun and never have to fire it again. He was happy being a cowhand, sleeping under the stars, the silence so deep you could breathe it. But after Sumner’s death the mayor had begged John to take over as sheriff. These were good folk, and he didn’t want to let them down, so he’d reluctantly accepted the job. 

As he nodded good morning to the townspeople walking by, tipping his hat to the ladies, he kept a close eye on the newcomers streaming out of the train station. They were bright and shiny in their new clothes, gawking around them like they’d never seen a western town. Well, maybe some of them hadn’t. They must’ve been fresh from the cities and towns of the east coast, most of them. They surely weren’t ex-soldiers from the late war. He could spot those a mile off, the combination of weariness and wariness that hung like a miasma over those who had survived the horrors of battle. It took one to know one, after all.

He didn’t trust the newcomers. Although he knew rationally that they were just people like him, looking for a fresh start, somehow it didn’t feel that way. The way they looked around was greedy, like everything and everyone in the town was theirs for the taking. He didn’t like it. At least most of them only stayed a few days before moving on to some other town, where they’d be someone else’s problem. Nonetheless, he had to be civil to them, so he “howdied” at the men and winked at the ladies when they gave him admiring glances. He winked at some of the men too, but he was a little more circumspect about that. Nights out here were lonely, and he’d take his comfort where he could get it. But some of the newcomers were odd about it, getting violent if he expressed an interest in spending an evening in mutual pleasure. Something in his gut twinged unpleasantly at that thought, like there was something he’d forgotten. Like a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite produce. He shook his head. He was imagining things.

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head to see an extremely irate looking man shaking his foot in disgust. He’d apparently stepped into a horse patty. He was attractive enough, with snapping blue eyes under a receding hairline, and an appealingly crooked mouth that was currently tipped downward in dismay. He certainly wasn’t a local – John knew all of those by sight, and besides this man was dressed in a neat pinstripe suit and shiny black leather shoes. Well, his shoes used to be shiny anyway. He looked like an east coast banker or a doctor, maybe. He looked vaguely familiar to John, but he didn’t know the man. Not that he’d mind getting to know him – he was cursing loudly and creatively, and damn, he had a mouth on him. John had always liked passion and spirit. 

Then the man looked up and their eyes met and held. John caught his breath as an unfamiliar wave of emotions broke over him. It was confusing and all tangled up – anger and desire and warmth and despair, all mixed, and it made no sense because he was damn sure he'd never even met this man. 

Then a horse ambled by between them, and Doc Beckett stopped him to have a word and by the time he looked back, the man was gone. He shrugged. Ah well, the man was a newcomer. They never stuck around anyway. He turned his attention back to surveying the town. He heard the tinkle of the player piano at Miss Teyla’s starting up and for some reason felt a chill. His fingers involuntarily twitched against empty air, like he was pulling the trigger on a gun that wasn’t in his hand. Something bad was coming.


End file.
